Flight From the Mourning Bells
by elphabah
Summary: Matt and Near have only one thing in common, and that is a concern for a certain loud mouthed boy.


**Flight From the Mourning Bells**

**by Elphabah**

_Mello runs out the door, screaming. He's punching holes in the walls, knocking paintings off their designated places. WWIII in the form of a crushed little boy. Rodger winces, Near stares impassively at the carpet. Even as the blond child leaves, they can hear the sounds of his destruction. Mourning cries of frustration echo in the vacant halls, Mello's rampage persists. _

_It becomes muffled. Then silence. A long, terrible silence._

_L's duties were meant for the both of him, but now he would be working alone. This was not what L would have wanted but reasoning with Mello when he is already convinced of something else, it just could not be done. Rodger knew this, resigning to the outcome of their meeting. The albino child looks up, his expression resolute. "When do I start?" _

Matt doesn't go outside often. He hates the little insects that crawl over his arms; their tiny legs brushing against his pale skin, the sunlight always making the LCD screen of his gameboy difficult to see. Nature didn't comfort him the way technology did. Matt would take the soft glow of a computer screen over sunlight any day. But today is different; he isn't in the mood for videogames and somehow the warmth of the Wammy House interior wasn't inviting but oppressive.

By now, the whole house is caught in a throng of depression. The Great Hero L had left the world, taking Wammy's father-figure owner with him. Matt bites his thumb in thought, _might as well have told the kids that Barney killed Batman, _he says silently to himself with a bit of dark humor. The image of a monstrous purple dinosaur getting the best of DC's greatest creations stirs a giggle from Matt. He isn't ashamed of his amusement either. Not the way Rodger and the other adults would wish he would be. _Life is just one big joke anyways, _he argues with an invisible opposition. _You got to laugh everything away._

He is sitting listless on a rusty swing, feet gently swaying over a patch of sand. It is beginning to rain, Matt's grip on the ancient chains tightens and pumps his scrawny legs. If he can, he is going to fly away. And suddenly he is soaring, the ground becomes small. He pauses in mid-flight, gravity flinging him back to the earth with merciless strength. The swing creaks in protest; he bends his knees and repeats the movement again, climbing back into the sky.

"You know, you're too old to be playing on that," a quiet montone voice breaks his solitude. Matt doesn't see the speaker at first because the familiar boy is crouched several feet behind him but when he slows down, sneakers reconnecting with dry dirt, there is no mistakening the flash of white hair and deep crimson eyes.

Still sitting on the swing, Matt juts his chin forward in an indignant expression, "Look who's talking, Mr. I-own-every-lego-ever-made. What do you want?"

Armed with a stick, Near pushes a catepillar along a leaf with methodical care. He doesn't reply to Matt's retort, skipping straight to his agenda, "I was looking for Mello."

Matt scowls, frog-hopping off the swing. A splash of sand snakes in Near's direction. He wipes the grime of rust off on his ratty jeans as he advances towards the other boy, "Well he isn't here."

"I know."

Matt crouches beside the other boy, "He's left Wammy's for good."

"I know."

There is a silence. A devoid feeling that fills them both in the absence of their loud and mischievious housemate. Matt didn't like Near very much. And not just because Mello hated him with a loathing passion either. It wasn't that he had a personal vendetta to settle or a jealous streak. He just didn't like him very much. He was too serious for being a kid. Even if this was Wammy's place and half the children thought they were ten going on fourty-five, with Near it always made Matt feel uncomfortable.

"Does this mean you will be leaving soon too?" Near asks and the question catches Matt off-guard. He squishes a blade of grass between the nubs of his fingers, thinking.

"Probably," the young boy answers. "Me and Mello, we stick together. I'm the only friend he's got, you know."

Near nods slowly, mostly to himself. With no one else around, Near begins to look more fragile in Matt's eyes. Even under his icey mask, there is a heavy weight burning down on his body, little shoulders drooping. He had lost two people in his life: one to death, the other to a crazy cause.

"I had hoped once to be his friend," he says with a vacant tone, even though Matt know he must be feeling sad. "But I think that chance is gone. Look after him, Matt."

_Look after him, Matt. _

It is raining now. Gray clouds looming over their tiny world announce their presence with a thunderclap. Big fat drops spilling on their heads. Matt bites his lip awkwardly, Near gathers to his feet in a sluggish manner. Bare toes in wet grass. Matt goes into the house first and after awhile, Near follows him in.

By the next morning, Matt disappears as well. He leaves without ceremony, unlike Mello he does not let the household know he has gone. When they packed their suitcases they had been thorough; the room Matt and Mello once share is barren, stripped of the familiarity that had formerly declared the two occupants in all it's chaotic glory.

Near's imagination swells with the idea of the two boys meeting up on a highway somewhere, hitch-hiking through the hills of Scotland. He wonders what adventures Mello and Matt will have together, what struggles they will face because of their choices. It is foolish, what they have done. But Mello is full of foolish decisions, building an unstable castle on hastey foundations. It's only a matter of time before it crumbles. His plans coming a part at the seams.

_Look after him, Matt. _

A note is left under Near's door, Matt's chicken-scratch penmanship catching his eye: "I always do."


End file.
